


Small Two of Wolves

by FullMetalKittn



Series: Tiger Festival of Thedas [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: All This Shit is Weird, F/M, Trespasser Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4820729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullMetalKittn/pseuds/FullMetalKittn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contains Endgame Spoilers. In this Story:  High Speed Dream Chases and Broody Elves. Lavellan has decided to try her hand at nobility in Kirkwall when she encounters a tall, glowy stranger. Adventure ensues as she prepares for the end of the world and the final confrontation with her Dread Lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Features a slightly modded Fenris.

 

_"She settles in as well as can be expected._

_The gift was delivered without incident."_

_-Missive delivered via Raven_

 

The fire dancing in the room's hearth couldn't seem to chase away the chill Tiger Festival felt as she curled up into a ball and hugged her fuzzy fleece blanket tight. It had been like this every night for days now that she had nothing more to distract herself with.

She had managed to keep plenty busy for the first few weeks after her arrival in Kirkwall. Her allies, working in secret to find The Dread Wolf and infiltrate his network, needed information and instruction. New contacts had to be made in Tevinter and alliances sought in Antiva. The house that had been a generous gift of the Viscount needed renovation and repair, and First Enchanter Vivienne had spent several evenings with her, coaching her on the ins and outs of nobility. With so much to occupy her mind, those days had been easy. But now, left with only her thoughts and the uneasy waiting, sleep had become an exhausting ordeal.

The dreams, even worse.

Cold. Empty. Alone. _Don't want to dream. Not anymore._

He'd be there. He always was. In dreams she crossed deserts, forded rivers, and stumbled through overgrown forests littered with elven ruins, desperately trying to catch up to the bald elf draped in white fur that ran ahead of her on the edge of the horizon. Effortlessly he'd outpace her, only to turn around and vanish with a mournful gaze as she reached out for him. His name would escape her lips to linger in the empty air. Gone.

_Solas..._

A deep, feral growl rumbled from the ball of blanket that was Tiger Festival, growing into a frustrated cry as she sat up and wrestled with the covers. "Enough of this!" She declared to the firelit room as she rose, failed to untangle her elven body from the confines of the bed, and tumbled to the floor in a heap.

Mercifully, the soft green fabric at last lost it's hold her as she rolled around and finally found some purchase. Without her left hand, even mundane tasks had begun to feel like feats of legend.

 _Just another reminder,_ she thought as she stood up and caught her reflection in the full length dressing mirror nearby. Though her vallaslin had been a lie and her hand had been a mercy, the Dread Wolf left his mark in the things that he took away. Green eyes misted over. She looked aside, unable to hold her own gaze any longer, and made her way to the night table. There, she retrieved the sculpted silverite hand gifted to her by the Skyhold smiths and set about strapping it in place. It was heavy, and added little functionality at the moment, but at least it was pretty.

Pretty enough for the Hanged Man, at any rate.

She struggled into a simple white side-split daygown trimmed with what the local seamstress thought could pass for Dalish embroidery and pulled her mousy hair back into a ponytail. Then, as she made her way for the foyer, she took a small harness containing a fold-up compact crossbow and ammunition from it's stand by the bedroom door and strapped it to her right thigh. It was nothing like the traditional bow that she had used nearly all her life, but Varric had taught her well, and she had become a decent shot with the hand held weapon. "Can't be too careful in Hightown, Kitten. It's the most interesting place in Kirkwall after dark, you'll see," He had said, before spinning a tale about a group of mostly male thugs that would dress up like chantry sisters and prowl the streets at night.

She made a mental note to give the new chantry grounds a wide berth as she reached the door. Just in case.

A clear, starry night sky and a chilly breeze greeted her as she stepped out of the manor. Moonlight filtered down through the rooftops to illuminate the cobbles. And there, as she turned away from the door, a man. She drew in her breath, startled. It was an elf, but not _him._

The wind picked up with a dramatic flair as she regarded him in silence. His appearance was striking, to say the least. Snowy white hair danced against olive skin and stormy blue eyes peered at her from beneath dark brows. Starlight glinted off the hilt of a large weapon strapped to his back and while he seemed very tall for an elf, he hid his full height by slouching - a warrior with bad posture.

_Definitely not him._

Even so, the stranger's piercing gaze caught her off guard. She bristled. "Who are you?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," he replied at length. Despite the hesitation, his voice was as intense as his stare. "I expected to find this house empty. The way I left it."

A tangible sense of danger surrounded this man, and she knew that If he attacked her, she'd be completely outmatched. Sanity urged her to flee. Curiosity, however, got the better of her, "What do you mean, the way you left it? I was told the manor was abandoned when it became infested by demons and that the previous owner is dead. You don't look very dead to me."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a smirk. "Hopefully I don't look like a demon either."

Well, demons typically didn't take the shape of handsome, broody looking men, but what did she know? She had fallen in love with a bald-headed elf that turned out to be the Dread Wolf of legend. "Eyes can be deceived," She replied, and then, indicating the pale lines that decorated his face and arms, inquired, "Are you Dalish, then? _Na'Vallaslin tasallan ma, lethallin._ "

"No," His eyes narrowed and he seemed about to say something more, but he breathed out a sigh, shook his head and turned away instead. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to bother you. I was unaware the house had a new tenant. I'll leave you to your evening."

As he began to walk away, she reflexively reached out and bade him, "Wait!" When he actually obliged her, she fumbled. They didn't usually stop. After a breath, she managed, "What's your name?"

Without turning around, he gave his answer, "Fenris."

She recognized that name. Copies of Varric's book about Kirkwall's Champion could be found on every shelf in Skyhold during the Inquisition's stay. She must have read it a half dozen times, at least. "You're Fenris? I've heard of you. You're one of Hawke's friends."

His shoulders sank. Of course he knew. "Yes."

"I'm sorry. I only kept her company for a little while, but the world is poorer for her loss." She said, approaching him as he turned back to face her. This close, she could see a faint blue-white glow pulsing through the markings on his skin. _Lyrium._ Just like in the book. _Fascinating._

As Tiger subtly admired his glowy marked skin, Fenris studied the ground with sorrow flickering in his eyes. After a moment, he breathed a quiet sigh and shook his head. The gesture seemed to give him some measure of peace. "Then you must be Tiger Festival, the blessed Herald of Andraste," he said when he met her gaze again.

It had been almost half a year since the Inquisition was disbanded. The truth about who she saw in the Fade had made it's rounds. Would she never be free of that title? "Please, don't call me that. Even Kitten would be better."

He raised a brow and she shrugged at him.

"Varric," they then remarked in unison.

As if cued by the dwarven Viscount's name, drunken, flirty laughter echoed down a nearby alleyway. Patrons returning home from the Blooming Rose with some expensive take out, from the sounds of it. Tiger was reminded of the desire for dialogue and distraction that had brought her out into the night to begin with and she considered the elf at her side carefully.

For some reason, the Hanged Man suddenly felt like a hundred miles away.

"Would you.. like to come inside, Fenris?" She ventured, "See what I've done with the place?"

He answered with a half smile and then, "Yes. I think I'd like that."


	2. Chapter 2

_"They grumble behind closed doors in Hightown._  
_Men don't like to be led by Elves."_

_-Missive concealed in a red scarf_

She stood alone in the middle of a barren wasteland. The sun had long ago set, and the moon loomed overhead, close enough to touch. It's pale light illuminated miles of formless desert in every direction. For as far as her eyes could see, there was only the sky and the sand. There was nothing else. _Have I been here before?_

A sorrowful howl rent the still, quiet air and a white wolf appeared on the horizon. It was impossibly far away, but she could see its face as if she were kneeling right in front of it. It had too many eyes.

_Solas._

Her muddled thought became a desperate plea that echoed across the sands, "Solas!"

The wolf's ears sagged and it turned away. A terrible feeling of loss gripped her heart. She reached out for him. _He's too far!_ "No!"

She started to run after him only to find her left foot rooted in place. Caught off balance by this, she pitched forward and stared at her leg in bewilderment. Heavy, unmoving silverite sparkled in the moonlight from calf to toe, its fancy engravings mocked her as she fell. The pale white sand rushed up to meet her and with flailing arms, she tumbled straight through it. The desert floor shattered like a mirror. Shards of reflection scattered everywhere until only the emptyness remained. It swallowed her whole.

Aimlessly, she floated in the nothing for what must have been an eternity and then she heard a familiar voice. At first it was a wordless whisper -- air without shape. Was it the Well of Sorrows? The sound danced at the edge of her consciousness. _Mythal?_ She tried to focus, but her brain felt disconnected. Tiger Festival drifted alone in a neverending world of darkness.

"Well, she never was much of a morning person, Elf." That wasn't Mythal. It sounded suspiciously like a Varric.

Another not Mythal responded, "That's an understatement. I've been here a week and she hasn't gotten up a day before noon. If you've come to fetch her for your meeting, you may need to find a replacement. "

 _Fenris?_ His even-toned drawl was unmistakable and the darkness began to recede as the conversation continued somewhere beyond. She felt compelled to slide away from the light and float away again, but something gnawed at her.

"The meeting!" Tiger gasped as she bolted upright. Sunlight streaming through the window stung her unprepared eyes and she tried to grind the sleep out of one of them with the heel of her hand. "Ugh." She had completely forgotten about the city council gathering that the Viscount had scheduled for that day. It was to be the first time she would properly meet the rest of Kirkwall's movers and shakers face to face.

Varric's voice filtered through the doorway as Tiger hopped out of bed and rummaged through her wardrobe for something that hopefully wasn't too difficult to put on one-handed. "You sure you're not up for it? The nobility would just love you, trust me."

She arrived at the top of the stairs, dressed in an untied knee-length white Dalish tunic just in time to rescue Fenris from the task of inventing a witty reply. The frustration on her face was self-evident. "I'm not going."

"Aw, Kitten. The Comte and Comtesses have been dying to meet you. You'll hurt their feelings if you don't show up." Varric gave Fenris a meaningful wink as he stood and grinned up at the disheveled Herald. "The combined force of their pouting could bring down the entire palace."

Apparently taking a cue from the dwarf, Fenris made his way to the staircase. "Here, let me help you," he said and Tiger could only watch in mortified, wide-eyed horror as he drew near.

" _Melana en athim las enaste,"_ Her voice trembled and her face flushed as Fenris began to carefully lace up the sides of the tunic. This was so stupid. What full grown elf was incapable of putting on their own clothes? Why didn't she get up earlier? Why didn't she have her outfit prepared? She balled her right hand into a fist and glared down at the metal one that hung uselessly by her left side. She couldn't remember feeling so embarrassed in her entire life. Invoking broken Dalish phrases did little to ease her supreme discomfort, but she did it anyway. _"Ir suledin nadas!"_

"It's alright, Tiger." Fenris assured her as he knelt to work on the half braided leg wrappings. Despite his apparent lack of traditional Elven upbringing, he deftly managed to weave the soft leather around her calves without missing a beat. He looked up at her with that charming half-smile of his after tying off the ends just above her knees, "I don't mind."

 _I mind!_ She wanted to declare for all to hear, but she bit her lip and gave him a grateful nod. Her cheeks burned like wildfire. "Thank you, Fenris," she said, not quite able to meet his eye.

Varric, who had observed the whole ordeal with an amused smile, beckoned with his arms out wide, "Now that we're all presentable, care for a stroll across Hightown with Kirkwall's favorite Dwarf, Comtesse Lavellan?" He turned for the exit as Tiger bobbed a quick curtsy to her tall, broody housemate and hurried down the stairs.

She could feel Fenris' stormy gaze follow her all the way out the door.

Midday Hightown bustled with activity as dwarf and elf made their way to the Viscount's Keep. The damage the city suffered from the uprising roughly seven years ago could still be seen in the scarred buildings and pieces of ruined plaza, but the marketplace had more or less recovered. Charismatic vendors hawked their wares from stalls draped with colorfully embroidered fabrics. Guardsmen patrolled streets populated by nobility and well dressed servants going about their day. Life seemed to be returning to just about normal. For those who had survived the chaos, it was an inspiring reminder of mortal resilience. Her thoughts turned to the man who had given up on them all, _We're not as bad as you think, Solas. We can get better. This can be your world, too._ If only she could show him.

Such thoughts of belonging in this world began to evaporate as they finally arrived at the keep and entered the plainly decorated council chamber. Three pairs of eyes settled on Tiger Festival - the faces of her noble peers. Two of them did not look happy at being made to wait. Irritation and cold dismissal from the the Comte De Launcet and Comtesse Harimann. The third person seated at the long table was an elven woman with wheat colored hair whom she didn't recognize at all. An expression of pleasant surprise lit up that younger elf's face.

"Another elf? Aren't we full up?" Complained Guillaume, his Orlesian showing.

The young brunette woman, Lady Flora, offered Tiger a strained smile. "Lady Lavellan, it is an honor."

"I really like your clothes." Said the elf.

That out of place remark made it easier for Tiger to smile at the room's less friendly occupants. She took the empty chair beside the unknown elven lady and gave Varric a look that she hoped conveyed how quickly she'd like to get this all over with. When he gave her a helpless shrug, she began to wonder if she shouldn't have taken Sera's offer of Jenny-hood instead of trying to play nice with the nobility.

 _Here is where I can help best,_ she reminded herself as Varric took a seat at the head of the table and began the introductions.

Apparently the flaxen haired young lady beside her was Orana Amell, an elven servant taken in by Hawke just before the disaster. With no other family to pass such things on to, the shy girl had become sole heir to the property and title. That she had managed to hold onto both of those things without much of a fight was proof of just how desperate the people of Kirkwall were for leadership and stability in the aftermath. With things slowly returning to normal, however, Tiger couldn't help but wonder how long it would stay that way.

The purpose of the gathering turned out to be the delivery of progress reports on various rebuilding projects. Throughout the meeting, Tiger learned that each of of the families represented had assisted Varric in his quest to see the city restored, and so he had appointed them to their positions after his own election. Quietly, she sat and observed, waiting to see what her part to play in all this would be.

"There's still the matter of the chantry." Lady Flora began after the overall status of the city had been determined, "I've invested manpower and coin into clearing the rubble, but my resources are stretched thin between that and the warehouse renovations at the Docks."

"We have a chantry," argued Guillaume, "I inspected the building myself."

"We have a _chapel_ , Lord de Launcet," the Comtesse corrected him, "It is hardly large enough for the citizens of Kirkwall, let alone a visit from Divine Victoria. If we ever want our city to house a Grand Cleric again, we must rebuild what was there."

Orana's voice was small and meek. Maybe it always sounded that way, but she seemed sincerely apologetic, "I wish I could help, but I have everything invested in Lowtown right now."

"Why not have the Herald take care of it, then?" the Comte suggested.

Viscount Varric leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers with a smug looking grin on his face. "I think that's an excellent suggestion. What d'ya say, Kit- Lady Lavellan? Do you wanna build a chantry?"

With the dwarf's approval, it seemed all but decided. Even the adopted Amell was in apparent agreement with the idea, given the size of the bright smile that stretched across her slender face. "But I don't know the first thing about human architecture," Tiger protested, "Or any architecture..."

"That's why you hire people who do, dear." Comtesse Harimann's voice was a mix of condescending amusement so familiar that Tiger nearly mistook her for Vivienne.

"Very well," She said as she shrugged her shoulders and shook her head in defeat. "I guess I'll build a chantry."

_What's the worst that could happen?_

 


	3. Chapter 3

_"She builds faith for others,_

_But hers has been shaken to the core."_

                                                                                                        -- _Missive delivered via courier_

 

Summer had fully arrived in Kirkwall. If one had any cause to doubt this simple fact, they need only visit the reconstruction site of the chantry during the day.Two hours past noon brought with it the very worst of the season's heat as the sun beat down on the unshaded parts of Hightown from its perch in a cloudless blue sky. Thanks to her unusual sleeping pattern, it was then that Tiger Festival typically made her daily inspection.

Laborers, mostly elven, were hard at work shoring up sturdy wooden scaffolding around the sooty remains of the old chantry towers. Handlers barked encouragement at lathering horses as they hauled in stacks of quarried stone on rolling pallets. Architects poured over blueprint drafts while overseers took inventory of both manpower and material. Everywhere the sound of hammers answered the shouts of men. It was a horrible din of well organized chaos, and it was terribly, unbearably hot.

Beads of sweat dotted the former Inquisitor's slightly freckled cheeks and her hair stuck to her temples and forehead in soggy clumps as she weaved through the workers, helping out where she could. Her metal hand felt heavier than ever, and the straps that kept it in place chafed her shoulder.

 _This must be what hell feels like,_ she thought in dismay as she gathered up the nails from an overturned bucket that she had nearly tripped on. She was looking for a safer place to put it when she caught sight of a shirtless Fenris climbing down the nearby scaffolding. Her eyes widened. She couldn't help but stare. Like full-body vallaslin, white lines of lyrium swirled across bronzed skin that glistened in the sun. Broad shoulders and perfectly toned arms flexed as he finished his descent and ran his fingers through his damp, snowy hair. Horribly, when he discovered his one-elf audience, he tilted his head down and smiled at her.

The nails hit the ground again and she blushed as she scrambled to collect them. _Yep. Definitely hell._

For nearly a month now, Fenris had been her housemate and a close companion. At first, she had found in him an unexpected confidante, trading tales of the breach-borne calamity for his stories of daring slave rescues along Tevinter's border. Now he helped her shoulder the burden of inexperienced nobility. His presence filled the void left by the dissolution of the Inquisition and the scattering of her friends, but not the one left by _him._

To Fenris, Solas was only a name he had heard her cry out in her sleep. He may have suspected the nature of her relationship to him, but not his identity, or his fatalistic mission. Those things she kept close to her heart along with the memory of his warm, tingling caress and breathtaking kisses. To recount them would be to relive them and with the dreams that plagued her at night, it was almost too much to take.

Which made her growing attraction to the white haired elf extremely problematic.

An argument erupted as she finished with the nails again, drawing her attention from one problem to another. The small Andrastian chapel that the Comte de Launcet had ordered built in the wake of the rebellion sat in the middle of the worksite like a lonesome island in a rolling sea. It was there that the head Architect had made his office under wooden a lean-to, and there that he was currently shouting at one of the Overseers like a child who had lost his favorite toy. Tiger managed to get to them before the high-strung man started throwing things.

"You were supposed to vet them! _Especially_ the ones from the Hanged Man!" Auguste Bouchard was an expert on historical Andrastian architecture straight from Val Royeaux whose aid had been secured with a little help from Sister Nightingale. He was a very serious man, but his heavy accent made the outburst more of a comedy, "That place is filthy!"

For his part, the overseer looked thoroughly chastized. "I swear, they said they were from the Alienage! Who would lie about living there?"

"What's the problem?" Inquired Tiger before the architect could start raving again.

"Some laborers have run off. Most of them took tools with them," The overseer breathed a long-suffering sigh and gestured towards one of the scaffolds. It was almost completely deserted. "Elves, all of them. I don't understand it. We promised fair pay and delivered on it. Why would they do this?"

Auguste was beside himself with melodramatic angst, "Oh! They will ruin everything! We needed that section completed today! Now it will all be behind!"

"Kitten!" That was Fenris. She turned around to scold him for using Varric's nickname without being Varric, only to find him staring down the wide staircase that led to Hightown proper. A handful of elven laborers were scampering away, tools in hand. Instead of waiting for Auguste's inevitable over reaction, Tiger gave chase with her lyrium-marked friend hot at her heels.

"That's not my name, Fenris!" She let him know as she maneuvered the stairs with ease.

Fenris kept pace, "I'm not shouting Tiger across a crowded plaza."

"But that's who I am!" It wasn't a total lie, at least.

"Do you even know what a Tiger is?" It was as much a question as it was an accusation. One Tiger had no immediate retort for as they reached the bottom of the stairs and continued their pursuit into the housing district. Ahead of them, one of the taller elves had begun to trail behind the rest. He slowed to a brisk walk while the others rounded a corner into an alleyway between two towering homes. With luck, they'd be able to get some answers out of him.

Meanwhile, the mid-chase conversation was completely ridiculous. "Of course I --"

Taken entirely by surprise, the words caught in Tiger's throat when the trailing elf casually turned around. A strange light glinted in his golden eyes as he momentarily stopped and presented her a fleeting, unfathomable smile. She knew this elf. His vallaslin was gone, and he wore the cowled tunic of a simple laborer, but there was no mistaking _elvhen such as he_. Having thus made his pointed impression, he took a few steps back and vanished into the alley before she could say even his name.

"Abelas...?" _How?_

Fenris sprinted past her, unfazed by the revelation that had left Tiger momentarily stunned and staring. After a breath, she followed and found the alleyway deserted save for her winded housemate and a tell tale mirror leaning against the far wall.

"An Eluvian." The sight of it made her heart flutter. "They must have escaped through there."

Solas controlled the network of teleportation mirrors now, which meant the elves that fled her construction site must have been agents of his or new recruits. An uneasy feeling took up residence in her chest as Tiger approached the Eluvian and placed her palm on the shadowed glass. Cold and black, it reflected nothing. _Are you here, my love?_ The thought that he might be standing just on the other side made her heart ache. A fat tear escaped her eye and snaked its way down her cheek, startling her. She hurried to wipe it away.

"Magic." Fenris was saying with no small measure of disgust as he moved beside her to inspect the mirror himself. "Merril had one of these. It was broken, and thanks to Hawke, it stayed that way."

"Why would they run away?" Tiger wondered out loud, which was only part of the question. The rest of it was, _Why would they join him?_ The Dread Wolf seemed to require the end of the current world for his asinine elvhen remodeling plan. Who could possibly think helping him with that was a good idea, let alone one worth dying for?

Fenris looked offended by the mirror's very presence. He shook his head. "It seemed like you recognized one of them. You probably know the answer to that better than I do."

Tiger's eyes were drawn to the other elf's lyrium markings as he paced behind the Eluvian with a skeptical glare on his ruggedly handsome face. She knew the story of how he got them. Burned into his flesh by a Tevinter Magister, they had been a prize for winning that slavemaster's cruel game. Yet, there were other marks on him. Other marks that required no such backstory. Long, faded scars down his back and round his neck offered wordless witness to the suffering an elven slave often endured. No. In truth, Fenris probably understood the reason those alienage elves joined the Dread Wolf's chaos committee more than she ever could, and he had no idea it even existed.

_I have to tell him._

"Don't worry Tiger. We're offering good pay and free food. I'm sure we'll find more workers," Fenris said as he returned to her side. He must have noticed her silent distress.

She shook her head and rested her hand briefly on his arm, "Let's go back home. We need to talk."

"What should we do about this thing?" He asked, giving her pause as she turned to leave.

Tiger glanced back at the darkened mirror. An unnerving feeling that Solas might be standing just on the other side of the shadowed Eluvian returned. Perhaps he watched them, even now. The idea made a desperate part of her long to find a way through, throw herself into his arms and stay there until nothing else mattered. Her heart sank. She blew out a soft sigh and turned away. "Whatever you want."

Though it was hardly unexpected, the sound of glass shattering after she left the alleyway made her cringe.


	4. Chapter 4

_"She sleeps too much."_

_-Missive stamped with a chantry sunburst_

 

"You fidgeted all through dinner," Fenris said when he joined her in the sitting room. Instead of settling in on one of the richly upholstered armchairs, Tiger Festival had opted for a fireside seat on a fluffy fur rug of unknown origin. She stared blankly into the flames as her housemate hunkered down next to her, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were about to confess to some terrible crime."

 _You don't know any better,_ she wanted to say as she turned her face to him and searched his eyes for some hint of how he might react when she revealed everything. His gaze was as intense as ever and his mind unknowable. She let out a slow breath. A chill descended upon her heart as she steeled herself and looked back into the hearth. Then, interrupted only by the snap and pop of the fire, she began her tale. With halting words, she told Fenris about Solas and his legendary identity; about Mythal, Flemeth and the Well of Sorrows. Silently, the white-haired elf listened as she explained the purpose of the Eluvian and the actual origin of the Veil. She could feel his demeanor darken as the true nature of the Elven gods and their vallaslin-branded followers fell from her lips.

In the end, a weighted silence lingered in the air. Drained of truth, Tiger Festival felt empty and exhausted. She cast Fenris a curious glance, but the other elf only stared into the fire, seemingly content to brood without response. Her gaze followed his and as the dancing flames consumed her vision, she felt her mind begin to drift. She imagined a hairless ancient elf walking among the coals, his shoulders burdened with a thousand years of guilt. Out of the ashes all around him, mirrors sprouted up like tombstones in a forgotten cemetary . Their surfaces churned, black and sinister.

And then, a question at last, "Do you love him?"

The vision of Solas faded. _A hundred questions that he could have chosen, and that's the one he asks?_ Tiger scowled and picked absently at her metal hand. The answer was an easy one. Saying it was infinitely harder. Though yes was on the very tip of her tongue, she hesitated and looked back at Fenris.

Only, the broody elf was no longer there.

That startling realization brought another; it wasn't his voice that had asked.

Sudden heat rolled unnaturally out of the fireplace, demanding her attention. She turned back to find the flames leaping and stretching out at her. With hypnotic intensity, they beckoned like the open arms of a trusted friend. The thought of pain and danger didn't even occur to her until she had already crawled through the hearth.

A world of smoke and ruin awaited her on the other side. Charred stumps of once proud trees lined a path paved with sooty elven stonework that wound its way towards a mountainous statue of a wolf reclining on the horizon. In a state of extreme disrepair, its damaged reflection appeared on the bent and broken mirrors that dotted the ashen landscape in every direction. _Is this a dream?_ It felt like something more, and something less. No apparent reason for this vision presented itself as it usually did. As _he_ usually did. Bewildered but curious, she stepped onto the path and started walking.

For hours, days, or years she walked, never gaining any ground on the lupine carving that crumbled in the distance. With a defiant scowl, she took a breath and sprinted forward until her legs threatened to give out, but this burst of determination produced no better results. Then, as if the answer might fall from the heavens, she demanded of the churning sky, "What's this place even mean?! Just show me where you are, Solas!"

The air shifted at her back. Her ponytail stirred. "Scared. Scarred. Searching. Solas was here. He went away when you fell."

"Cole!" Tiger turned to find the familiar, flaxen-haired spirit staring at her with the faintest expression of sorrow on his face. The floppy hat was gone and his pale blue eyes seemed much brighter than she remembered, but the patchwork clothing hadn't changed. Her heart swelled at the sight of him.

"You still use that name." An ephemeral smile touched his lips. "I knew you wouldn't forget." Then, he began to pace in his distracted sort of way. "He hurts because he thinks he has to. He carries too much now. Din'Anshiral. Destiny. Death. He wanted to put it down for you, but he can't. It's very heavy."

Something about the spirit's presence was overwhelming. As she observed him and listened, Tiger's eyes began to well up. She scrunched her face to keep the tears from leaking out, but it was no use. Choking out a pitiful sob, she stumbled over to Cole and threw her arms around his waist as the warm beads of water rolled unchecked down her cheeks. She buried her face in his raggedy gray tunic. He smelled like magic. "I've missed you so much, Cole."

"Yes," Was all he said as he let her hold onto him. There was more to it, of course. More to him. It was a feeling that didn't really need words. Just by being there, he helped.

After a while, the tears ceased. Tiger let go of him and dropped down to sit cross-legged on the charred paving stones. She felt completely spent. "I don't understand. He's there every time I sleep, but I can't ever reach him. Am I doing something wrong?"

"You can see him because he wants you to catch him. It doesn't matter that you can't. It matters that you tried." Cole's eyes seemed luminescent, capturing what light remained in the murky grayness around them as he gazed down at her. He smiled again. Though fleeting and shy, it shined on her aching heart like the warmth of the sun. "You'll stay real and that makes him hurt. But you can still make him happy. I'll make sure he remembers."

It was a statement meant to comfort, yet it only made the whole thing sadder. A second round of tears threatened to occupy the still-damp streaks on her face, but Tiger stubbornly blinked them away. "Solas will trade his happiness and my world for the redemption of whoever he thinks his people are."

"You aren't his people. Why?" In true Cole fashion, the question was both an innocent inquiry and a thoughtful challenge.

 _Why, indeed._ She lacked the immortality and intimate connection to the Fade that her ancient ancestors had, and her culture was built on the broken mosaics and scattered half-truths that they left behind. Everything that had identified elves of the Solas's time had been stripped away by the creation of the Veil. The people that remained -- the people that became her people -- were shaped in the aftermath. As a product of Fen'harel's actions, how could they not be his people? More his than any other.

"I don't know," she answered, at a loss.

Cole fidgeted for a moment, studying her. _Listening,_ Tiger recalled the first time she encountered the spirit helping a lady back at Skyhold and wondered, _What things does he hear inside me?_

"Daunted, defiant, determined," he said at length, an answer to her unspoken question. And then, "You can find him but this road can't lead you there. It's forgotten where to go." He pointed to the closest shattered Eluvian. On its surface, the image of the broken wolf statue remained as far away as ever. "The mirrors didn't forget."

With that, Cole vanished in a sudden snap of frosty air. Like a cozy hearth grown cold without its fire, a chill descended in his absence. It crawled through Tiger's pores and she shivered as she climbed to her feet. She considered the nearby mirror. Though the wolf statue on the horizon still stared aimlessly across the vast distance, the one reflected on the broken glass seemed to be looking straight at her. _Creepy._

No swirls or ripples appeared on the surface of the Eluvian as she approached it and put her palm on the cracked glass. This seemed to indicate that the mirror was inoperable, or more likely refusing to acknowledge her presence. With no apparent way through, she turned and stepped away. A heavy sigh escaped her lips. Then, ignoring the the panicked voice of reason screaming in her mind about what a very bad idea it had given her, she spun back around and surged towards the mirror, kicking up a cloud of ash in her wake. "I'm not giving up that easily!" She declared as she threw her arms in front of her face and leapt through the fractured glass.

The world shattered around her.

On the other side, she stumbled out of an empty Eluvian frame into a small room. Faint, hazy lines on the walls and floor indicated that they might be made of undecorated wooden panels. There sat a solitary bed in the corner of the simple dwelling and on it, a teen-aged elven girl with long coal black curls cradled a toddler close. A cozy fire burned in a tiny stone pit as the children turned through the pages of a well worn story book with strange cats on the cover. Warmth surrounded the herald like a loving embrace. _Friend. Sister. Mother. She called me Tiger._ For a long time this room had been pushed to the far-flung reaches of her memory, but it was one she knew despite its faded edges. Familiarity beckoned her to stay.

Love demanded otherwise. _No._ _I have to find him._ "I have to find Solas!"

Her outburst sent a tremor through the floor. The little cabin's only window burst open, ushering in a gust of icy wind that snuffed out the fire and threw the room into chilly darkness. "I'm sorry!" She told the toddler, who now sat alone on the bed. The child covered her big green eyes and started sobbing - another memory she knew all too well, "I'm so sorry."

Ripples formed in the open space between the panes as she approached the window. With one last glance at the frightened little girl, Tiger dove through the portal.

Glittering in every direction, gilded elven mosaics stretched across the walls that lined the long hallway that she fell into next. An elaborately framed mirror behind her went black as she landed on the floor in an ungraceful heap. She could practically see her reflection in the golden tiles. Another memory, perhaps, but not her own.

A pained cry tore through the air. It was a voice she would have known anywhere and without a moment's hesitation, Tiger was on her feet, racing for the source. "Solas!" She called out, desperate as she scampered through vacant rooms and corridors, each more richly decorated than the last. Golden leaves rustled from trees in gilded cages and satiny drapes fluttered in her wake as she thundered past them. The oddly empty state of every chamber wasn't lost on her as she followed the echoes through them. She knew it wasn't real. She knew and she didn't care. All that mattered was reaching him.

And then, in a room before a blazing hearth, there he was. "Solas."

On his knees and hunched over, he stared at shaking hands covered in mage light and crimson. Instead of a familiar bald head, neatly bound russet hair tumbled down his bare back from a bone-beaded undercut. There was no mistaking that jawline, however. Or those purple-gray eyes as he raised them to meet hers. Blood wept from a painful looking wound on his brow. It trickled down half erased remnants of vallaslin on his face. Reflexively, she touched her bare cheek that once bore the mark of Dirthamen and remembered the life changing moment when Fen'harel had taken it away. Could this whole place be a reflection of his past, then? Was Solas himself the first ancient slave he had freed? _Did I interrupt him?_

 _No._ Even in this dream-place within a dream, the Well of Sorrows stirred with thoughts that weren't her own, _He made a mistake._

"You shouldn't be here, Vhenan." Solas said without accusation. His voice was strangely timeless as this younger vision of him stood up. He stepped over to her and curled his fingers under her chin. Tiger's heart rabbited around in her chest. She closed her eyes, ignoring the drops of his blood that dripped onto her cheeks like tears as he pulled her face towards his and leaned in. Her lips parted in breathless anticipation.

And then, like one of Cole's disappearing tricks, he was gone.

Tiger's heart sank as she opened her eyes to find the room now dim and deserted. What coals remained in the hearth were unable to fight the cold that seeped into the area with Solas's sudden departure. Only the feeble glow from a nearby Eluvian offered any light at all. With a heavy sigh, she wandered through it.

Having felt his touch and been so close to him at last, only to lose him again made her arrival at the towering statue somewhat less than victorious. Quite the opposite, in fact. Simply staring up at those those great, blind eyes as they gazed out into nothing invoked a deep-seated feeling of fear that Tiger had no explanation for. Gales of frigid wind assaulted elf and statue alike, pushing the ash around her frozen toes as it chipped bits of stone from the big wolf's body. She shivered uncontrollably. _Now what?_

Taking a deep breath of icy air, she was about to call the Dread Wolf's name, when he simply stepped into view high up on the statue's back. Her voice died in her throat at the sight of him. This was no vision of the past. He was as she saw him last, right down to the fur-draped ancient armor and its ridiculous knee faces. Just as he did then, he held his hands behind his back and observed her without emotion. Looking up at him through the hair that whipped and stung her face, she wondered that she had ever seen him otherwise. He, who claimed hers was a world of tranquil. He, who hadn't shed a single tear since the night he broke her stupid heart.

That all changed as she squared her shoulders and stared up at him in defiant adoration. " _Vhenan Suledin!"_

A deep fracture appeared on the statue's great haunch as Solas visibly flinched. For one impossible moment, his face betrayed a look of intense sorrow and unbearable pain in equal measure as the crack traveled across the rock and branched out into a dozen different fissures. Chunks of masonry dislodged by the freezing wind began to rain down around Tiger and the majestic Dread Wolf started to crumble piece by stony piece.

" _Ma lasa emma revas, Solas!"_ Tiger cried out to him as she carefully dodged the falling stonework, " _I_ _r mala'vhen!"_

Her desparate declaration gave him pause, but Solas had already started to turn away. The sad, but chilling glance he directed at her before walking out of sight was the last thing she saw as the entire head of the great wolf broke free and swiftly descended upon her. Everything vanished into frozen darkness.

A great shudder shook the herald awake. She gasped as her eyes snapped open and she found herself back in her Kirkwall manor, laying on that familiar fluffy fur rug in the sitting room. The fire had gone out in the hearth and the iciness in the large room gnawed on her bones. She thought of all the cold hearths in the dream, or whatever it was she had just come out of. Frustrated, heartsick and tired, she might have cried if not for her sudden awareness of the arms holding her. In a feverish moment of hope, she thought they belonged to Solas and rolled over only to find Fenris snoring quietly at her side instead. She wondered what had happened. Had she just plain passed out right there on the floor? A mental note was made to be embarrassed and apologetic about it later as she snuggled up against the lyrium-marked elf until the trembling finally subsided and dreamless oblivion claimed her.

Deep down, some part of her felt wronged by accepting this embrace. But she was so very cold, and Fenris was warm.


End file.
